


Armor

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - All Human, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wears anger and leather like a suit of armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He wears leather and anger like they're a suit of armor. 

I've seen him before. My high school is large but I have an almost photographic memory, and though he isn't in any of my classes there isn't anyone here whose face I don't recognize. I don't know his name, though, and for whatever reason that bothers me. 

He leans back against the brick wall, cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. When he takes a drag his head falls back against the wall, eyes closed like it's bliss. I wouldn't know; I've never smoked and don't intend to. 

"Hey," he says, without opening his eyes. "Erestor, right? Sophomore."

I swallow. Suddenly the boy in front of me is very intimidating as I notice he's around ten inches taller than I am. Even if we don't count the boots, I only come up to his chin. "Yes."

He opens his eyes now. They're the brightest blue I've ever seen. "Never pegged you for the type to ditch class."

Normally I'm not, but we've had the same sub in English for the last three days and she's the worst teacher I've ever had, including that one in third grade who considered "turned it in" to be grounds for an A. But I don't tell him that. 

Instead I laugh it off and say, "We don't know each other very well." It's technically true, with the added bonus that I don't look like a dork to this person who practically radiates Cool. "I don't even know your name."

He laughs too, but it's more bitter than happy. "Glorfindel," he says, "but call me Fin, everyone does." He takes another drag off the cigarette and his eyes slip shut again. 

He's beautiful. I wish I didn't notice that as much as I do, but he is. "Fin," I repeat. I like Glorfindel better, but I don't say that. "Nice to meet you."

Fin nods. "Yeah."

And I walk away. 

 

I swear to God, that kid is everywhere. 

I never really noticed him. He's a wallpaper person; no one sees he's there until he speaks. Makes sense, he's one of those quiet geeky kids who reads at breaks. Bet he sits in the back row and none of his classmates know his voice — or maybe a know-it-all up in front whose hand is never down, that'd fit too. 

I shake my head to clear it. Why am I even thinking about him? He's hardly worth tracking, just another inconsequential part of this hellhole. 

Pretty, though. Pale and dark-eyed, long black hair, high cheekbones, very high-contrast, very femme. He'd have half the girls in this school hanging off him if he spent half as much time socialising as he does with his books. 

But. Anyway. Now that I'm noticing him, he's everywhere. Curled into himself, feet up on the bleachers, during a rally (holding a copy of what looks like The Lord of the Rings); eating lunch on the stairs to the science building with a brown-haired boy who's even smaller than him; staring absently out the window as I walk by the main building — he's got Paulsen for German, it seems, so I don't blame him. 

I don't know why the hell I'm even thinking about him. But I am. 

 

I saw Fin around before, but he seems to be everywhere now that we've spoken. Perched on the railing of the fire escape at break; blatantly not paying attention when I walk by his math class; sitting alone in the yellowing leaves by the computer lab at lunch. 

Fin's expression seems to only have two settings, anger and apathy. Three if you count the wry bitter smile as a separate emotion rather than classifying it as anger. Is he ever happy? I don't think so. 

Beat-up combat boots, leather jacket. Modern day armor, a punk-rock façade to keep people out. I'm not sure how deep it goes, but he's covered in black and scuffed leather and shining metal, and everything about him seems like it's trying to push people away.

Lindir is watching me. "Are you okay?" he asks, and moves closer to me. I can feel his body heat, and the October air seems colder by comparison. 

I nod but don't mean it, and he doesn't press me further. Lindir nearly always knows when it's better to be quiet. He's good that way. 

I don't know why I care so much about this blond boy I've barely interacted with, but I do. 

 

 

I don't speak with Erestor again until all the leaves are dead. The ground's covered with them, and in some places they're all crushed down already but where I'm sitting you can't walk without crunching at every step. 

He's wearing glasses today, small and square with wire rims, and I can't believe I think this but he's adorable. 

"Hello again," he says, and sits down next to me. "How are you?"

I just look at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he's hoping to gain. "Hello."

He doesn't say anything more until I do. "What are you here for?"

He looks around, like he's searching for an answer. "You," he finally admits. Apparently he couldn't come up with one. 

What the fuck kind of ulterior motive is that? It takes me a second to get what he probably means, if he's anything like everyone else at this school. "I'll hook up, if that's what you're asking." No reason to beat around the bush, and he's definitely attractive. Part of me wishes he didn't just want sex, but hey — I'm hardly picky. 

He blushes at that. "No, that wasn't what I meant."

Really? That's weird. But then, is anything about this kid normal? "What did you mean, then?"

It takes him a moment to respond, which I would take to mean that he's lying if it was anyone else. For Erestor, though, it feels more thoughtful than anything else. 

"I wanted to get to know you better." He speaks quietly, like he thinks I'm going to laugh. 

I almost do, it's been so long since anyone's told me that. But I hold it back, because if I laugh now he'll leave. 

Why do I care? No idea. But I do. 

"Yeah, sure," I say, and hope it sounds flippant enough but doesn't sound too sarcastic. "Ask away."

I don't think he expected to get this far. "Why do you wear armor?" he asks, but he's hesitant. 

Again: what the fuck? 

I look down at myself. Huh. I guess it is kinda like armor. 

"I like it," I say. True, and doesn't require much thought. "Looks cool, and it's comfortable." It is, actually, more so than you'd expect. 

Erestor nods. "Okay. Why have I never seen you talking to anyone?" 

For a moment I wonder how long the kid's been watching me. 

"No one to talk to," I say, like it doesn't matter. 

He frowns. Clearly my answer this time was unsatisfactory. 

"But why?" When he sees I don't know what he's asking, he elaborates. "Do you push people away for a reason? Does everyone hate you? I can't imagine that. Maybe it's you who hates everyone, but I don't think that's it either. Or do you just not care?"

Seriously. That's what he says. I cannot figure him out. 

"Don't know, don't really care either. I have no pressing need for chatter." And then I wait for him to take the hint and leave. 

He doesn't. Well, he takes the hint, for sure, but he doesn't leave. "That's what you want everyone to think. But I doubt it's true."

Fuck. 

What am I getting myself into with him?

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this?

"Conversation over," I say, and I stand and I walk away. 

 

I watch him go, a tall dark figure with a blond ponytail striding through the crowd of students, and I wonder.


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck.

Fuck this shit.

Fuck it with a garden hose. Stick a spear up its ass. Bugger it with a tree branch. No, a blackberry bush, that has thorns. 

It's been six days since we talked, and Erestor — no, the kid, he doesn't mean anything to me, just call him the kid — is everywhere.

I thought he was everywhere before, a month ago, when he hadn't really tried to talk to me. I thought he was everywhere when I noticed him once every four days or so. Now I'm lucky if I don't see him for more than an hour. Now I'm lucky if he doesn't look at me like I've run over his dog at lunch, if I don't run into him walking home, if I walk by the building his class is in and he doesn't try to greet me.

Even at home I can't get away, because I can't stop thinking about him. Why can't I stop fucking thinking about him? He's nothing. Nothing. Just some tenth grader who thought he could walk into my life. Just some little nerd who wanted to play with the big boys. Just another part of the shithole that is my existence.

I don't go home today. It's too — too much, I don't like admitting that even to myself but it's still true. Instead I walk, not to any particular destination, just aimlessly wander around the city.

I'll pay tomorrow, but it's worth it for today.

///////

Fin doesn't show up at school today, and I'm worried.

But he's there the next day, and I'm back to my usual debate: how do I talk to him again?

As usual, the answer is that I don't.

But I watch and I listen, and he has bruises over his arms that he's trying to hide but I still see, and he winces when he moves his abdomen too suddenly and when he sits down.

Is he okay?

What happened?

Can I help?

Yes. Yes, I can, but not if I don't talk to him.

///////

The kid comes up to me again about halfway through lunch.

"Are you okay?"

Huh. He's the first person who's asked me that. He might be ruining my life but hey, at least he cares.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just got in a fight yesterday." It isn't even a lie, technically.

I don't know if he believes me. Anybody else would; it's exactly the sort of thing everyone here thinks I'd do. This one — maybe, maybe not. He doesn't seem to agree with popular opinion. At least when it comes to me.

"And where were you when you got in this fight?"

No. Definitely doesn't believe me. Is that a good thing? Not sure. Is it true? Yes.

I don't lie. Not to him. He'd see right through it, not to mention I just don't want to.

"Home." I say it nonchalantly and don't mention who with. It won't last long, not if he stays as intelligent as he always is and I keep being as honest as I am right now. 

The kid — no, Erestor, call him Erestor, he's about to figure out my only real secret if he hasn't already, he means something now even if he didn't before — thinks about that for a moment, and says, "Does this happen often?"

Depends. Mostly he just yells. It doesn't get physical as much as it used to. Did yesterday, but doesn't usually. 

I nod anyway, without thinking about it. He would think it was often, even if I don't. At least, I hope he would.

Maybe I want him to know.

Erestor looks at me, sloe-dark eyes more intense than usual. I can't read his expression, which really shouldn't scare me but still does. "If you need a place to stay, I can bring you to my house."

He smiles then, like he knows I need it, and sits down on the steps, close enough that I can talk to him if I want to but not so close that it's awkward if I don't.

Two days ago, I thought Erestor was ruining my life.

Right now? He's the best damn thing that ever happened to me.

And… I think maybe I love him.

///////

Fin smiles, genuine and unscripted, and he doesn't say anything more but that's alright.

I've never seen him smile before. Not really. It's beautiful. Like summer. Never thought I'd associate Fin — Glorfindel — with summer, but the connection is there.

I think I love him.

///////

I wind up going home with him, after school. His father is quiet while he drives, except to ask my name — "Fin," I tell him, because I'm not ready to go back to being called Glorfindel however much I want to — and Erestor is quiet too. 

It's odd. At my house, there's always noise: breaking glass, yelling father, yelling sister, yelling me. We scream to fill the silence. Here, nobody minds — they just let the silence be. 

I think, privately, that I wouldn't mind living like this all the time. 

When we get there, though, I rethink that. 

The house is not a hole in the wall like mine, not even an apartment like Luc's, but not as big as the other houses in this neighborhood. Not as pretentious, either. 

Even so, I don't fit here. This area of town is richer than I have any hope of ever being, and I live in the neighborhood of gangs and drug dealers, where I used to carry my bike off my street until I reached a different area because all the broken glass would pop the tires. 

But Erestor just smiles and brings me in, and his other father greets me with a smile.

Maybe I can find a place here. 

Maybe. Nothing's certain yet.


End file.
